Redbeard Johnlock
by They Call Me Mrs. Holmes
Summary: John attempts to help Sherlock... romance, average day.


**This one is for my friend Lockie (LockedIn221B), thank you for introducing me to the wonderful world of fanfiction... HAPPY BIRTHDAY!**

Mrs. Hudson walked up the stairs with a tray of tea in both hands. She wore a small apron which the boys had bought her for her birthday, and hummed as she walked upstairs. She slowly entered the living room of the boy's apartment, and found John sat in his chair. He wore a grey jumper and comfortable jeans, and held a book in his hands.

"Hello Dear, I didn't realise you were up."

"Morning Mrs. Hudson, ooh thanks for the tea," he said and took the tray from her hands and placed it onto the table.

"Sherlock up?"

John shook his head and poured a cup for himself and the landlady. "Sit down."

They both sat down and started to chat, about Sherlock and John's latest case.

"Yes, obviously Sherlock figured it out before the rest of us, Lestrade wasn't too happy that The Yard was clueless." He said proudly. "Although I'm sorry about the mess, I didn't see why Sherlock _had_ to pour the blood on the carpet. Something about similarities."

"Well I'm glad it's over, hopefully he can start eating properly again, I mean.."

Before the landlady could finish, a scream erupted from down the corridor. Mrs. Hudson turned to look at John with a fearful face. Her hands started to shake and she had wide, scared eyes.

"John, what's wrong? Is he okay?" her voice shook as she asked.

John turned his head away and scrunched up his face, as if to block out the noise in his head. His face looked pained and desperate, as if he wanted to help but couldn't. Another scream burst from the bedroom, this one full of more fear, more desperate.

"Go, please" said John. Mrs. Hudson ran down the stairs and into the kitchen. John had stood up and started to pace the room, waiting for him to hear it.

The next scream carried a single word with it, easy to make out.

"John!"

John ran down the corridor and into Sherlock's bedroom. He found his partner sat on his bed, his hands closed over his ears and his face pouring with sweat. John ran to him and pulled his hands from his head, and sat down next to him, with Sherlock's head pressed tightly to his chest, and his arms wrapped around his shaking body.

"Ssssh, don't worry. Its fine, I'm here."

The steady beat of John's heart soothed the panicking Sherlock.

He whispered into his partners chest, "I, I, it happened again. The nightmare."

"Do you want to talk about it?" asked John. His voice neither pushed, nor discouraged his partner.

"I was replaying the day when I was…. Shot," he said.

Johns face grew guilty. After all, it was his wife that shot Sherlock, and caused the two so much pain. Well, his ex-wife.

"I'm so sorry," apologised John. It wasn't the first time he had said it. Every time Sherlock stared at his scar, every time his hands lingered over the place when he dressed, every time he winced in memory of the night, John apologised. He felt like he had to. Sherlock shook his head, as if to tell John that it wasn't his fault. John kissed the top of Sherlock's head and gave him a tighter squeeze.

"You know, we've never really talked about it," John pondered. "Would you want to?"

"I don't know, it's only ever about when I was dead." Sherlock started.

"Yes?"

"I keep remembering seeing Moriarty. And he talked to me, told me you were in danger, and that's when I came back," confessed Sherlock.

"But what's giving you the nightmares? Molly told me that the shock would've killed you, it's almost impossible that you survived that too. How did you do it? "

Sherlock hesitated, as if deciding whether to tell John or not. It's not as if he didn't trust him, just that it was one of his most private secrets, and he didn't want to be embarrassed.

"Redbeard. It was Redbeard, my Irish Setter, I had him when I was a child," said Sherlock. He stood up, wrapped himself in the dressing gown and walked out the room.

* * *

John couldn't work, couldn't focus, couldn't think. His mind kept remembering this morning, in bed with Sherlock. He sighed.

"Mr. Helson, back pains." His new receptionist had walked into the room to inform him of his new patient. His receptionist, Melanie, wore a sunflower yellow dress with matching shoes and a white cardigan. Her blonde hair was tied up in a bun, with little yellow bees pinned into it. Her Yorkshire accent was a strong contrast to John's London. "John?"

John was on his office computer, researching some things, and closed the tab and turned to face her.

"Yes, thank you." Melanie started to walk out when John called back, "Melanie!"

Melanie walked back in with a neutral look on her face. "Would you mind if I actually cancelled for this afternoon? And maybe give my patients to Dr. Jones? Sorry, I have a, family, problem."

Melanie was shocked, but nodded and explained to the waiting room that they would have to switch doctors, on account of a private situation. Meanwhile John walked out through the waiting room quietly and left the surgery, with a plan already forming in his mind. He reached into his pocket for his phone and dialled a number he never used before.

"Hello? Is this George's pet shop?"

The man replied.

"Yes, I was wondering if you could direct me to where I may get a dog, a certain kind of dog…." John said, and got into his car and drove away.

* * *

John opened the door to 221B Baker Street quietly and walked in and shut the door. He picked up the box he had placed down by his feet, and slowly and steadily began to walk up the stairs. He entered his shared flat and placed the box in the middle of the room. He found Sherlock in the kitchen, torching a watermelon.

"Sherlock? What are you doing?"

"Oh, John. You're home early, what's in the box?"

"Yes, I felt like I had to come home early, I've got you something."

Sherlock put down the torch and melon, and sat down in his chair.

"Yes?" he sniffed. "I can smell something, what is it?" he sniffed again. "It smells like a.."

At which point John took the lid off the cardboard box and lifted out a delicate, fluffy dog. His small, green eyes looked at the man sat in his black chair.

Sherlock's face was motionless. His eyes were wide and his lips were slightly parted. John walked over to Sherlock and placed the small pup in his lap.

"I was researching where to find Irish Setters. I hope you like him, it took me a while to find him, and… what's wrong?"

For Sherlock had not moved, nor spoken a single word. He swallowed and shook his head.

"I don't know what to say, I…. It's a dog."

"Yes, I got it for you because you told me about Redbeard and I thought it was so sweet. Is that okay?"

Sherlock picked up the pup and put it back into the box. "Thank you John, the thought was there, but I do not want a dog. Could you take it back?"

This time it was John who was motionless. After a while, he said "Take. It. Back? What? I've asked Mrs. Hudson already and she said it was fine, as long as it didn't make a mess! And I can't take it back; the man I bought it off doesn't take animals back!"

"A pound?"

"No, this dog isn't going to a dogs pound. It took me a lot to get this for you and a lot of money too! I'm not taking it back!"

"I'm sorry John. I feel really strongly about this," he said matter-of-factly. He then walked into his bedroom and shut the door.

John looked back and forth between the dog and the door.

"You're not going back, don't worry. Just you and me then." He said and picked up the pup and sat it on his lap, he stroked its red hair and thought of how his plan went so terribly wrong. How could this have happened? Sherlock must come round, it'll be fine.

* * *

"Sherlock! I'm leaving! Sherlock!"

Sherlock walked into the room and picked up John's coat for him.

"Here, have a pleasant day at work."

John took the coat, and put it on.

"Thank you, now. I've fed Archie a couple of seconds ago. So you won't need to feed him till I get home. But please, for me. Try to play with the dog?"

Sherlock scowled at John.

"Be nice!" said John.

Sherlock sneered and said, "Nice, such a poor word. Surely I have taught you better!"

"Sarcasm?"

"Ah, I was right. I have taught you something, a keen observation John, well done."

John playfully hit him on his arm. He gave his partner a long kiss on his plump, pink lips. When he pulled back, Sherlock was smiling. John smiled too and headed out the door. He stopped and poked his head around the door.

"Don't play with the knives, Sherlock."

Sherlock gave him a dirty look but nodded and waved goodbye. He sat down and stared absent-mildly at John's empty chair. The dog, who had finished eating his food, padded over to Sherlock and sat by his feet. The dog glanced up at Sherlock and cocked his head. _Archie. _Ridiculous, John naming the dog. John didn't seem to understand how Sherlock felt, a new dog. He couldn't play with a new dog, he was a grown man now. And even more so, he couldn't do that to Redbeard. He was his childhood dog and he loved him unconditionally. Maybe Mycroft would take it? No, he would feel the same as Sherlock, and even so, Mycroft wouldn't have the time for a dog.

Sherlock crossed his legs on his chair and picked up the book from the arm. He opened it in an attempt to distract himself from the thing sat by him. Sherlock still refused to call him _Archie_. What a stupid name. Ridiculous.

* * *

John walked through the door, and collapsed onto his seat. His face was weary and his eyes were drooping. A very busy day at the surgery, and all he wanted now was to curl up on the sofa, with a cup of tea and Sherlock at his side. Speaking of him, where was he? John got up and walked down the corridor and knocked on Sherlock's bedroom. The man didn't appreciate it when John just walked in. A mumble came from inside the room, John took that as a confirmation to enter, and opened the door.

Sherlock, was lying on his bed, with his lips taped shut, and his legs tied. In one hand, he held a knife, and the other, an apple.

"Sherlock? What the hell are you doing?" he walked forward to untie his partner. Sherlock shook his head obviously to signal to stay where he was. "This doesn't make sense; I was hoping that you would occupy yourself with the dog, not like this."

The dog. Shit.

"Sherlock, where's the dog?" John almost yelled. Sherlock shrugged his shoulders and closed his eyes. John stormed out the room and looked around the apartment, desperately searching for Archie. The doctor found the dog in the kitchen, chewing on and old book. He picked up Archie and carried him into the living room, in which Sherlock had just arrived, eating the apple that he previously held in his hand.

"Sherlock. You irresponsible prick. I can't believe you let the dog do this, left him alone whilst you played games in your bedroom!"

"I thought you knew I wouldn't care for him! I told you I didn't want him!" Sherlock retorted.

"Well _excuse me_ for doing something nice, for trying to make you feel better? And I think it's obvious that you like him. Since the three days that I got him, you haven't had any more nightmares, correct?"

Sherlock was silent, he was right. Sherlock's nights had been peaceful, but he just figured that was because of some unknown factor. Not the dog.

"John! I don't want the dog! He's not Redbeard! The only good he will be is for conducting experiments, if a dog related case were to ever arise." Sherlock said sarcastically.

"Jesus Christ, you are a psychopath." He walked forward to Sherlock, the dog now sitting on the floor.

Mrs. Hudson called up "Are you having a bit of a domestic?"

"Not now Mrs. Hudson!" they both yelled down in unison.

John wrapped Sherlock in his arms, which was difficult due to Sherlock being taller than him. He then stepped away and looked sorrowfully in Sherlock's eyes.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. Honestly I am, I was only trying to help. Tomorrow I'll take him to the pound, its fine." John kissed Sherlock on his cheek and sat down. Sherlock stood there, silent, before making a cup of tea.

"Thank you," whispered Sherlock.

* * *

"Sherlock! I'm leaving! Sherlock!"

Sherlock walked out of his room and greeted John. He still wore his pyjama bottoms and dressing gown, when he walked into the kitchen to drink the tea Mrs. Hudson had left for him. John stared at the behind of Sherlock and sighed. Sherlock heard and smiled, glad that John liked what he saw.

"Everything okay?" Sherlock asked smugly.

"Just fine, perfect," mumbled John.

Sherlock headed over to John and smiled. "Have a nice day at work," he said.

"I'll try. Don't worry about the dog; I'll take care of him after."

Sherlock nodded and leaned in. He gently rested his lips on John's and smiled. He felt John smiling too. Sherlock made a pleased noise, John tasted so good.

"I wish I didn't have to go to work," mumbled John against Sherlock.

"Then don't" replied Sherlock. He opened his mouth slightly and deepened the kiss.

John laughed and stepped back, "You know I have too, but I'll request some time off, we can go solve a murder or something." This time Sherlock laughed. He lent in and kissed John again. John brushed away Sherlock's hair from his face and turned away, he looked at his watch and said "Great, now I'm late." He left the room and called goodbye as he headed down the stairs.

* * *

"What? What do you want?" asked Sherlock. The dog had been sitting by his feet again, this time with a ball in his mouth. Sherlock sighed. "I'm not throwing it. You should know that." The dog stared up into the man's eyes and let out a soft wail. Sherlock sighed, bent down, and took the ball from the dog's mouth. "You're useless, you know. Dogs are so trivial." He said. Yet, he still looked at the ball and after a final sigh, through it into the kitchen. The dog, mildly surprised, leapt up and bound into the kitchen chasing after the ball. Sherlock could hear it panting as it ran back, and dropped it by his feet.

Sherlock smiled.

* * *

"Sherlock I'm home! Sherlock?" John walked up the stairs and into his flat. "Oh. My. God." John had found Sherlock sat on the floor, with Archie sat on his lap. Archie had a tennis ball clamped in his mouth, attempting to wrestle it from a laughing Sherlock. Archie growled and Sherlock laughed harder. John dropped his bag on the floor and sat down on the floor next to Sherlock. "What? How?"

"I guess he grew on me," Sherlock told John.

"Grew on you? You hated him!"

"I didn't _hate_ him," Sherlock lied. "I just disliked him, but that doesn't matter now, because he's staying."

"Staying? You want him to stay? Seriously?" asked John, wide-eyed in disbelief.

"Of course. And he doesn't have a proper bed, so I guess he will have to sleep in ours…." Started Sherlock.

John laughed and gave him a kiss on the forehead. "I love you."

"I love you too," smiled Sherlock.

"I was talking to the dog," John teased. Sherlock frowned, causing John to laugh.

"My detective," John smiled.

"My Blogger," Sherlock smiled.


End file.
